


The Longest of Nights and the Morning After

by Vancityfire



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 16:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vancityfire/pseuds/Vancityfire
Summary: After another adventure with aliens and Rose inevitably saving the day, the Doctor is met with the longest night of his life. Can he ignore the barriers between them just for one night, and maybe the morning after.





	

"Oi!"

The Doctor groaned inwardly as her voice reached his current predicament -held in a headlock by a particularly stoic Faltzon.

Of course she was here. Please don't, please don't. He begged her silently, knowing its futility.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He could hear her footsteps approaching on the flagstone floor of the dungeon. He cringed almost in pre-emption of her next phrase.

"Let him go, or I swear I'll…"

The Faltzon's dismissive laugh echoed through the medieval chamber. Its heavy tail swished against his ankles and the Doctor was briefly knocked off his feet, being held up only by the scaly grip around his throat.

Then, abruptly,he was being whisked across the room rather uncomfortably by his neck.

The air was punctuated by a battle cry, and Rose attempted to skewer an alien with a jousting lance.

Later when they spent their evening on the Tardis, the Doctor took great delight in waltzing past her on frequent occasion, rubbing his slightly bruised neck and wincing loudly. He was met with a particularly unamused glare the first time. The next, he received an eye roll. By his third and most dramatically wounded performance, she collapsed into wide smiled giggles at the kitchen table.

Much later, long after Rose had retired early to her room with a glass of red wine and Jackie nattering on the phone, the Doctor sat reclined in a tatty armchair in the library. His mouth hung slightly open in a faraway smile that matched his unfocused gaze, it was rare for him to lose track of time but his mind was drifting, drifting…

Suddenly the book he'd been holding in a ruse to seem purposeful, dropped like a rock to the ground. The resulting thud, jolted him upright and snapped him out of his thoughts. He mussed his hair distractedly, willing himself to return to the present reality. He'd been so far away, the memory of that soft squeeze she'd given him around the waist earlier had been the spark that led to a wildfire he hadn't had the inclination to put out.

But now it had to stop.

He focused intently on the sensation of icy water dousing his mind. Five minutes later, feeling much calmer and rather chilled, the Doctor left the library and headed left down the hallway.

A warm golden glow always seeped through her ajar bedroom door. When the radiance reached the tips of his shoes, he stopped abruptly. Illogically, he wiggled his toes that were hidden beneath salmon pink socks and converse as if the light was sunshine and he was barefoot on a beach. Upon the realisation that he was smiling at his own feet, the Doctor looked up decisively and again engaged the door with an apprehensive regard. He felt like one of those mangy cats that skulks around crowded places to forget its inability to find a home.

Rose likes cats.

He dismissed this irrelevant thought with a quick shake of his head and walked on.

The Doctor flitted around the Tardis for another few hours as the evening sauntered on. He scrubbed dishes by hand, ignoring the impatient buzz of the Tardis is in his mind as she continued to fix his gaze on the high-tech dishwasher. He returned scattered copies of books to the library, finding in the name of tidiness the excuse to peruse what she'd been reading recently. He ignored the bizarre feeling of thrill that came with any activity even tenuously linked to her.

He passed Rose's doorframe with remarkable frequency given the labyrinthian style of the Tardis. Each time he'd pause briefly, close his eyes and allow himself a short eavesdrop.

At first he heard her voice with the exact tone reserved only for extended phone calls in which her mother did most of the talking. Later, there was the murmur of a television drama and then on one of his last trips past, the hum of calm music slipped out along with the now dimmer golden light.

The nights seemed so much longer now he had somewhere he wanted to spend them.

The light emanating from her room had finally extinguished and now the weak glow from the hallway would be feeding through the open door in just the way she liked it since she'd been a kid scared of monsters.

Eventually he sat, eyes closed, with his back pressed against the wall to her room. The creeping loneliness of the ongoing night was lessened slightly by the knowledge that she was just on the other side of that wall. She was so close, and he could remind himself that the distance between the wall and her sleeping form was what kept them both safe.

As safe as anyone who treats aliens like kebabs really needs to be.

He almost chuckled at that thought, but instead he continued to strain his hearing, using the sounds of her rhythmic breathing to fill his own chest, heavier than the oxygen in his lungs but lighter than the weight of not hearing her at all.

He kept his eyes closed when he felt dawn approach on the medieval Earth outside his ship. When he couldn't wait any longer he forced himself to his feet, giving the door one last glance.

He walked purposefully into the kitchen, not entirely sure when she'd get there, determined to create something brand new for breakfast.

The Doctor ate his concoction particularly slowly, letting more time pass while he waited for her to appear. Rose was never so acknowledging or, indeed, enthusiastic of the dawn breaking as he was.

Finally, the Tardis gave a gentle pulse in his mind. The game was up.

Because Rose hadn't skewered an alien yesterday and returning here had only given him a short reprieve from reality.

His chest ached.

To go back to those nights when her existence wasn't a memory behind every door, when she left new books every night and no wall was permanent.

Somehow he stood up and headed to the library to scatter those same copies around the Tardis for the next long night.

The Tardis or his conscience (they were often the same) nagged slightly, that no temporary delusion could last forever. They were correct of course, but it could hold on a little bit longer.

Because, today he was heading to the 2012 London Olympics, again.


End file.
